Friends in High Places
by silver-moonshine
Summary: Slash. Three hunters. Three situations. Three times homicidal idiots get their asses kicked by unimpressed lovers. Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Bobby/Crowley. Rated for mature themes, swearing and brief mentions of gore.
1. Vampires and Lollypops

**Disclaimer: The Winchesters, the angels, the demon - none belong to me. The homophobes, the vampires and the wendigos do. I kinda like the latter, but the other two can burn in hell.**

**Note: I'm sorry if I screw up any of the Americanisms - I'm British, and while I've tried to stick to the speech patterns and colloquialisms indigenous to the various states of the USA, I'm aware I've probably gone wrong in a few places. Let's just call it artistic license yeah?**

**WARNING: Slash, mentions of light gore and sex (not at the same time and not explicit). Don't like it? Go away. Simple.**

* * *

It was a hunt gone wrong. Very wrong. Somehow he'd gotten separated from his brother, probably in between all the running and fighting they'd been doing, and now he had what seemed like half a hoard of vampires gunning for his ass. The other half had most likely gone after Dean... they seemed to have taken offence to his calling them 'pasty faced emo-wannabes'. Sam could somewhat sympathise.

Problem was, in this humongous abandoned hotel with its never ending corridors, dead ends were a looming dilemma. He'd been lucky so far, but it was only a matter of time before...

'Fuck!'

Sod's Law. He'd thought it, so of course it'd had to happen. With the way his luck was going today, he might just be dead for good by the end of the night. Trust it to be a pair of Winchesters that stumble across a large, previously undiscovered nest of murderous vampires. So much for the leeches being extinct! Desperately he rattled at the firmly locked stairwell door, and whirled round as a large number of footsteps approached masked slightly by the corner that they had yet to turn.

'Here kitty, kitty.'

Taunting laughter echoed down the corridor, and he swore quietly again, darting into the closest room in a desperate attempt to put off the seemingly inevitable. Sam's crossbow laid shattered a few dozen corridors back, and he was down to silver blades and a next to useless gun. He could hold them off maybe, but not for long.

The doorway darkened, and he pressed back against the wall, a gun in one hand and a blade in the other, eying the crowd of vampires with a strategic eye. There were at least a dozen of them, and all were naturally armed with pointy teeth and super-speed. Ok... he'd settle for taking one or two with him at least.

'Aww look, he thinks he has a chance.'

'A chance he might get _lucky_.'

Cruel laughter ensued. They were young looking, troublesome teenager types, but their eyes spoke of sadistic delight and ageless bloodlust. The alpha female smirked and took a step further into the room, waggling her eyebrows, and her minions fanned out around her,

'Oh, I think we're the lucky ones. Such a pretty human... it'd be a shame to waste such talent.'

'Gonna turn him?'

'Nah, fuck him then suck him.'

More laughter. Sam shuddered in revulsion, certain to the bone that he'd slit his own throat first. But then he caught sight of the faint Enochian markings on his wrist and remembered something exceedingly important. Slowly he smiled. The gradually approaching vampires stopped in their tracks, eying him suspiciously.

'Hey, Gabe! Could do with a hand here!'

There was silence for a moment, and the vamps looked around, teeth fully exposed, searching for whoever their victim had been addressing. Nothing happened however, and they relaxed at the continuing silence. A lanky, gothic looking male laughed suddenly,

'Awww, puppy is trying to play games.'

'So sweet... I think he should die now.'

'Hey, I call first dibs on that tight ass of his.'

In seeming response the scent of chocolate drifted across the room, and Sam slumped against the wall in relief, somewhat faded smile gaining strength and becoming affectionate. Out of no-where, a voice issued into the dank room,

'Sammy, Sammy, Sammy... how do you get yourself into these messes?'

Gabriel was suddenly pressed against his side, grinning up at him when a strong arm looped around his shoulders and a welcoming kiss was pressed to his lips. Sam smiled back and shrugged,

'Winchester luck.'

The archangel studied their surroundings with interest, blatantly ignoring the hissing vampires,

'Y'know, you bring me to the most interesting places. What is it with you and abandoned buildings? Can't you face off with the Big Bad somewhere nice for once... Hawaii maybe... a nice beach?'

'Hey, I just go where the hunt takes me.'

'Then 'the hunt' needs to reconsider its decorating skills, mouldy chic is very last century. Lollypop?'

'Sure.'

Sam took the red candy and popped it into his mouth, humming happily as the taste of cherry burst across his tongue. Gabriel gave him a wide grin, and then stepped towards the vampires with a lazy smile, hands casually in his pockets,

'I know he's fuckin' cute an all, but I'm afraid I don't share.'

The female hissed furiously, pissed off that he'd somehow managed to slip by them without notice,

'I'd like to see you try and stop us little man.'

The genial smile turned into a vicious grin and with golden brown eyes twinkling malevolently the Trickster took another step forward,

'Oh good, I was hoping you'd say that.'

Almost absent mindedly he clicked his fingers. Immediately the vast majority of the present vampires simply... exploded. Charred flesh and putrid blood rained down on the room, staining it crimson, leaving all under a thick layer of bemired flesh except for a pristine ring of space around Gabriel and his lover.

One of the younger remaining vampires heaved, and stumbled out of the room, fleeing for his very un-life. The female vampire cowered and her remaining children followed suit, shuddering with fear and horror,

'Please...'

'What - spare you?

Gabriel laughed long and hard, having to wipe away tears of mirth as he eventually replied,

'Aaah, that's a good one. You've never spared anyone in your life. I don't see why I should extend any courtesy to you. May God have mercy upon your soul... or y'know, burn in hell...whatever, I don't really care. Say hi to Crowley for me!'

He turned back to his lover and clicked his fingers, not paying any attention as the living demonic souls behind him disappeared and the illusion of blood and gore winked out of existence. The useless sacks of flesh left behind were rapidly disintegrating, and with a gentle clasping of hands the angel and his lover disappeared from the room. They reappeared outside beside the Impala. There was a faint bang as Sam was pushed against the car, and the lollypop was pulled from his mouth, only to be replaced with an eager tongue.

The hunter groaned, and gathered the angel closer, deepening the kiss as much a physically possible. It was messy, hot and hard, passion fuelled by adrenaline. Vaguely he was aware of a faint shatter of gunfire in the distance, but was distracted by cold hands slipping beneath his shirt. With one last nibble on his lover's lip, Gabriel retreated, laughing lightly at the sound of protest his stepping away had caused. Casually the angel stuck the stolen lollypop into his own mouth and winked,

'First I'd better save your brother. Then you and me have a date with a motel bed. Your ass is mine.'

With a last grin the angel disappeared, leaving his lover slumped weakly against the Impala palming his half-hard erection desperately. Needless to say, Dean's rescue was completed in record time, and the already entwined pair blinked out of existence as soon as the elder hunter's butt met the car seat. Dean grumbled slightly as he revved up his Baby's engine and headed for the closest pub. Hearing his little brother have loud kinky sex was the last thing he needed.

* * *

**R&R if you want. There may be a one-shot Christmas themed sequel, or a three-shot accompanying piece in which roles are reversed (aka the humans kick ass instead). Let me know if it's worth it.**


	2. Angels and Meatballs

**Disclaimer: The Winchesters, the angels, the demon - none belong to me. The homophobes, the vampires and the wendigos do. I kinda like the latter, but the other two can burn in hell.**

**Note: I'm sorry if I screw up any of the Americanisms - I'm British, and while I've tried to stick to the speech patterns and colloquialisms indigenous to the various states of the USA, I'm aware I've probably gone wrong in a few places. Let's just call it artistic license yeah?**

**WARNING: Slash, mentions of light gore and sex (not at the same time and not explicit). Don't like it? Go away. Simple.**

* * *

The bar was the usual run-of-the-mill shithole. Cheap beer, even cheaper women and the stench of stale sweat, cigarette smoke and piss permeating the dank air. Not exactly Dean's favourite type of watering hole, but it'd do. It was a brief glimpse of reality that settled his mind as much as it unsettled his stomach. There was something reassuring about the way that, no matter how impending an apocalypse or how many locals had met a grisly demise, everyone in these sorts of places continued drinking and fucking like they were starring in their own public porno no matter what. He could kinda respect that, if not the drunks and whores themselves.

He wasn't aiming to get pissed. He wasn't even aiming to get laid (well, he was, but he had someone very specific in mind). So of course, in the typical style of Winchester luck, that was exactly the night that he got hit on by the hottest woman in town. The local men didn't like that. They disliked it more when he turned her down. Obviously these men weren't the kind to appreciate logic.

They set on him in the parking lot. Dean was almost expecting it – he wasn't an idiot after all – but the combination of yet-to-heal wounds from a just finished hunt, exhaustion and a good few pints of beer strong enough to blind a donkey set him at a minor disadvantage. Even so, he was managing to hold them off pretty well – two on the ground by now and another two looking distinctly nervous. Right up until their friends came looming out of the shadows wielding metal pipes and baseball bats that is.

'Shit.'

The first blow brought him to his knees, the force enough to fully crack his already fractured ribs. Damn that hurt.

'Y' made a mistake coming here tonight boy. We don't take kind to you pretty boys comin' here and makin' moves on our women.'

Roughly he was seized by two cronies and held up like a prime-meat punching bag, groaning as a fist planted itself into his kidneys. Catching his breath he held up placating hands as well as he could with his arms gripped so tightly,

'Look man, I ain't making moves on anyone. I got my own lover to go back to.'

'Y' expect me to believe your woman is as fine as our Trixie? Ah don't think so lover-boy. Your woman is gonna have to sew you back together by the time we're through.'

The rusted pipe swung up in the air again, the few smooth patches glinting in the poor light. Dean closed his eyes, preparing himself for what was likely to be another rib-cracking blow and mentally planning his escape when a familiar rough voice cut through the clear night air.

'I am not a woman.'

Dean tensed further. Shit, the last thing he needed was the possibility that Cas might get hurt. Then again, the angel was back to full power and could hold his own against a crowd of demons even on a bad day. A bunch of block headed drunks was hardly a challenge. Almost reluctantly the hunter relaxed, eyes scanning his surroundings – both attempting to spy his lover and seeking the best route outta dodge. The ring leader swung round, him too trying to find the source of the unerringly polite voice,

'What? Who's there? Come out, else y' pretty friend will be losin' a finger or two. Y' hear me?'

'I could hardly fail to do so Edmund Jackson. It would be most unfortunate if you were to harm my friend – I'm afraid my reaction would be somewhat... unpleasant.'

A glimmer of startled panic appeared in the man's eyes,

'How... how do you know that name? Show y'self!'

'As you wish.'

From out of the shadows of the building came a deceivingly diminutive figure, as ever wrapped in that beige trench-coat looking about as dangerous as a kitten with his innocent blue eyes and aura of naivety. Immediately those that had tensed relaxed. The big guy snorted dismissively,

'What're you gonna do – kiddie slap me to death?'

Cas ignored him and the other men looming a good head above him, and slipped through the crowd to stand in front of his lover with a warm smile,

'Hello Dean.'

'Hey.'

'Are you injured?'

Dean nodded minutely, eyes warily darting from his lover to the men around them. It seemed Castiel's easy dismissal of them had thrown them off guard. The angel frowned, running gentle hands over the hunter's torso, expression darkening as he used his 'mojo' to sense the damage – both old and new. Visually he didn't change, but his Grace wrapped around him like a cloak – tangible now and somehow frightening. Of course, Dean immediately sighed in relief as his wounds were healed, and the sensation of loving Grace washed over him like he'd been bathed suddenly in warm water – cleansing and soothing in a way that made arousal curl in his gut. Around them however, the men felt suddenly nervous, with no idea as to why. So of course, nerves became anger.

'Hey! Who the hell are you?'

Ignoring the mortals the angel lovingly kissed Dean on the lips, lingering for a short sweet moment to absorb the delightful feeling of flesh against flesh, and then pulling away and turning around so that the hunter was at his back. Soulfully he regarded the disgusted thug,

'I am Castiel. You have damaged my lover.'

'Faggot.'

The angel tilted his head at the harshly toned insult, and then looked back at Dean, obviously confused,

'Why is he addressing me as a pork meatball?'

The hunter couldn't help but snort amusedly despite the situation, shifting slightly in the tight grip the men still had him in,

'Faggot is what jackasses call guys who shack up with guys.'

'Oh.'

Cas turned back to the beefy man with that serious but innocent expression that so often made old ladies coo over him,

'You're an ass-butt.'

'And you're gonna to burn in hell, faggot.'

The big man lashed out viciously with his metal pipe, and Dean desperately jerked forward against the men holding him, but then settled down with a sigh of relief as Castiel went so far to chuckle as he casually caught the approaching metal,

'That seems very unlikely. Crowley is himself homosexual. I doubt he tortures men for simply loving another man, or women for loving another woman. Besides, he owes me.'

With an almost gentle movement the metal pipe was yanked out of strong hands and then cast away into the night leaving its owner both confused and unsettled. Anger was quick to return however, and he lashed out with a large fist, but then made a sound akin to a wounded puppy as it was caught midflight without any seeming effort by a hand at least half the size of his.

'That was not very nice.'

The angel's grip tightened almost unnoticeably, yet it brought the large man to his knees with a pitiful whimper. The men surrounding them murmured and backed away slightly. The grip on Dean's arms became looser, and he shook the slackened hands away, taking a step towards his visibly irate lover. Gently, Cas began to glow,

'I have been told that, for a mortal, hitting an angel is akin to striking a marble statue.'

Silence reigned,

'I do not suggest you try it again.'

With barely a flex of muscle Cas physically picked up the large man and threw him into a group his friends, knocking them all to the floor. Grace flared around him for a moment, showing a flicker of his wings, and he growled lightly. Those still standing fell to their knees in terror. Dean simply crossed his arms and watched with a smirk. It wasn't often Cas went all 'Angel of the Lord' on someone.

'I have been assured by the King of Hell that there is a special place in his Kingdom reserved for those who harm others simply for daring to love someone of the same gender. In addition, praying for God to smite all homosexuals only pisses Father off. You will get no sympathy from either Heaven or Hell for your abhorrent behaviour. I suggest you repent, before your souls are eternally damned.'

The angel turned dismissively, blue eyes fixed on his lover and not noticing those that flinched away as he strode towards Dean. The warm feeling of Grace washed over the hunter again who gave one of those rare small smiles that only Cas and his brother were able to prompt in response. Immediately Castiel relaxed,

'I apologise for losing my temper.'

'Don't sweat it man, it was pretty hot.'

Cas tilted his head in that bird-like manner, and smiled lovingly,

'It was?'

'Hell yeah. In fact...'

Dean grabbed his angel by the lapels and pulled him flush against his body with a rakish grin,

'...I say we go back to our room and you prove your masculinity to the world by screwing me into the mattress.'

Blue eyes darkened with lust, and Grace warmed hands slipped up the back of Dean's body, sliding beneath the worn leather coat and tight t-shirt to caress scarred flesh, even as a faint outline of a pair of wings glimmered around them, curved protectively around the taller man.

'I love your ideas.'

Behind them the gathered men watched in a combination of fear, shock and disgust, and one by one scarpered, scarcely able to admit to themselves that they'd met and pissed off an angel of the Lord let alone the fact that said angel appeared to be gay and very much unconcerned about it. Dean meanwhile nuzzled Cas' cheek and then planted a sucking kiss on his neck, just above his lover's pulse point before murmuring hotly into a sensitive ear,

'Prove it.'

There was a muttering of vehement Enochian and a lingering deep chuckle as the pair disappeared into thin air.

* * *

**R&R if you want.**


	3. Demons and Roses

**Disclaimer: The Winchesters, the angels, the demon - none belong to me. The homophobes, the vampires and the wendigos do. I kinda like the latter, but the other two can burn in hell.**

**Note: I'm sorry if I screw up any of the Americanisms - I'm British, and while I've tried to stick to the speech patterns and colloquialisms indigenous to the various states of the USA, I'm aware I've probably gone wrong in a few places. Let's just call it artistic license yeah?**

**WARNING: Slash, mentions of light gore and sex (not at the same time and not explicit). Don't like it? Go away. Simple.**

* * *

It wasn't like he hunted solo much anymore. Hell, in another life he'd have retired from his 9 to 5 job by now and would be watching his grandkids play or some shit like that. Instead he was playing pseudo-daddy to a pair of 30 year old idjits, his job involved large amounts of pain and danger, his leg was playing up from that time it got chomped on by a Wendigo a good 20 years ago, and to top it all off he had somehow become consort to the King of Hell.

Despite all that he couldn't find much to complain about now-a-days (that was a lie, and he knew it, sometimes he continued to complain out of sheer spite) – bizarrely enough Crowley was pleasant to have around, and once they'd got past all the learning how to live with each other crap, Bobby's ol' sorry looking house had suddenly become a real home.

Of course the place was still littered with books and papers and scraps of newspaper, but it was _clean_. No dust clung to the surfaces, any and all vermin had fled like the plague was upon them (and who knows, maybe it was), the kitchen gleamed, exotic knickknacks were dotted around the house and it smelled, of all things, like roses.

As it turned out, Bobby was in fact capable of co-inhabiting. It was as surprising to him as much as anyone else. He was a difficult man to live with and he knew it. Fortunately Crowley seemed to find the challenge exciting, and more than one argument had descended into gleefully wild sex upon any available surface. Bobby hadn't thought he was capable of doing that sort of thing anymore, but it seemed as if there were some of the randy 20 year old of eons ago left in him after all. In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd half suspect that that crafty ol' demon of his was fiddling with his lifespan. Sometimes he looked in the mirror and felt like he'd stepped back in time.

The fact of the matter was that despite verbally hanging up his hunting hat a good 10 years ago, he'd kept on hunting – usually with one or more of the Winchesters yanking him along. Hell they'd even dragged him into an apocalypse or two. He'd come out of it scratched and beaten, and at some point half paralysed, but alive none the less, so of course it would be the one time he goes on a simple solo hunt after a Wendigo that he nearly dies.

He shouldn't have gone really. Crowley was away in Hell (something about overseeing a new sector reserved mostly for violent homophobes and child-molesting priests), the Winchester boys were over in Ohio probably with two angels of the Lord dogging their heels, and everyone else he could or would have gone with were either dead, damned or doing their own thing.

This was all passing through his mind at that very moment. He certainly had plenty of time to think about it anyhow. Turned out there were two Wendigos, not one, and the second had gotten the jump on him despite his successful slaughter of the first. So here Bobby was, hanging upside down like a freakin' fruit bat, and waiting for a grisly demise while absently wondering if he'd turned the cooker off before he'd left that morning. It was probably somewhat telling that even in a potentially fatal situation he was worrying about Crowley getting pissed at his general laziness towards the kitchen. Obviously mortal peril lost some of its buzz after the millionth time of experiencing it.

Bored, he began to count the number of drips of blood coming off his body.

A good thousand or so drops of blood later there was a growl at the cave entrance, and soon the odd wolf-like creature shuffled in. Bobby rolled his eyes as it poked at him curiously with razor sharp claws, carelessly piercing his flesh as if testing if its lunch was still alive. The old hunter couldn't withhold a wince as it nicked against his broken collarbone. With a satisfied 'wuffle' the Wendigo knelt and eagerly licked up the pool of blood gathered on the floor. Apparently it believed in having an appetiser.

At one time Bobby might have felt a bit nauseated at the sight. Now he just felt somewhat indignant,

'Hey, that's mine you ugly bastard.'

Its ears twitched, but it continued to lick the stone floor clean. Nose twitching, it eventually raised its head, long tongue wiping over vicious teeth with obvious pleasure. The blood was gone. It wanted more. Insane golden-green eyes stared into calm blue as if waiting for its victim to scream and struggle. Bobby did neither. He quirked an eyebrow at the creature,

'What? You want a gilded invitation or somethin'? Go fuck yourself you scraggly sack of shit.'

Long ears twitched at his pissed off drawl, and a clawed hand reached up, settling gently at his stomach, and then a long talon began to pierce the hunter's still-solid flesh. There was something sadistic in the way it slowly dug into him, staring into his eyes as if seeking a reaction. Bobby stared back, easily pushing back the pain, and frowned, voice monotone,

'Ow.'

Bobby must have blinked, because one second the Wendigo was there, and the next it was gone. There was a crunch as bone shattered against a solid wall, and the Wendigo shrieked as it slumped to the floor. Immediately it was set upon by some invisible force, and Bobby waited patiently as the click of well-shod shoes against stone drew nearer,

'Hello luv, bit a pickle you've gotten yourself into.'

There was Crowley in all his tailored glory, looking as if he'd just stepped out from the office... and that's probably exactly where the smarmy bastard had come from too. Damned if the demon didn't look freakin' sexy even upside down. Bobby grunted in greeting as his bindings were cut through with a wicked looking blade,

'How was hell?'

'Hellish.'

Unnaturally strong arms caught him as he fell, setting him to rights with gentle hands. In the corner the Wendigo's shrieks grew quieter, going ignored by the two men. A careful hand pressed against the gaping wound on the hunter's stomach. Scarily enough, that sorta thing made Bobby appreciate his man all the more – there weren't many who'd hold his guts in for him, and fewer still who'd do it so casually.

'How much blood have you lost?'

'Lost count at 1382 drops.'

Crowley helped the hunter to his feet, eying the torn and bloodied flesh of his lover's torso with quiet concern,

'You hunters are a strange breed.'

'Don't I know it. Gotta be insane to keep doing this job after 30 years of it. Probably ain't right that mortal peril seems kinda boring by now.'

'Hence why you were having a lovely chat with the dear departed Wendigo?'

Said Wendigo was little more than a grisly stain and some torn fur by now. Well, the hellhounds would be well fed today at least.

'Seemed better than makin' a fuss.'

'Sometimes I find myself wondering if you're entirely sane luv.'

'Glad I ain't the only one.'

Painfully he let the demon half support him out into the sunlight. They paused for a moment until, at a whistle from their master, the invisible hellhounds snuffled beside them, pressing into their legs on either side.

'Hold on darlin''

Bobby shut his eyes, knowing from experience that he'd puke if not, and waited for his feet to re-alight upon solid ground. It only took a second, but it was still disorientating.

'Alright luv?'

'Alive.'

Carefully he was eased down onto the couch, and sighed in relief as the cushions took the weight off of his aching body. Truthfully he felt like shit, and he had a headache from hanging upside down for so long. He blinked wearily down at his demon as the boots were tugged from his feet. The warm, if invisible, form of a hellhound curled up at his hip and he absently petted it as Crowley examined the various wounds on his body.

'You do realise I'm going to be bloody furious once my relief wears out.'

'Yeah, I know. At least I left a note this time.'

Crowley snorted, preparing to stitch the gaping hole in his lover's stomach using supplies from the med kit kept on a nearby bookcase,

'Oh yes, because knowing where to find your mutilated carcass is so much better than not at all. Fucking freaks me out when I come home early to an empty house – I never know if I'm back in time to save your ass... when it needs saving that is.'

'S'what the seal is for right? Freakin' demonic seal. The boys would go batshit if they knew.'

'All the more reason for them _not_ to find out.'

'Never know, they might like the idea that you can find me no matter where I am on the globe.'

'Yeah, and I'm the Queen of fucking Sheeba.'

'That a new name for Hell or somethin'? Sheeba. Sounds a bit odd, but at least the Queen part is right.'

'Piss off.'

The demon was half smiling when he said it, so Bobby closed his eyes, assured for the moment that he wouldn't be getting bitch slapped. Again.

'I'll make it up to you.'

'You'd better. I'm half tempted to assign you a bloody hellhound bodyguard at this point.'

Bobby shrugged,

'If it makes you happy.'

Dark eyes looked up at him searchingly,

'I'm going to hold you to that luv.'

Bobby tugged the demon up, and planted a kiss on his lips,

'It's a deal.'

Crowley grinned and kissed him properly before pulling away,

'Deal. I'm gonna phone Cas, see if he minds popping over and healing you some. Broken collarbones are the worst...'

The demon's voice trailed off as he disappeared into the kitchen muttering about the utter ludicrousness of the King of Hell having an angel on speed dial. Bobby smiled briefly and settled onto the sofa better, sighing peacefully at the scent of roses and the persistent heat of a hellhound resting it's head on his thigh. Funny how such a bizarre life could feel so much like normalcy. Slowly he dozed off, remaining coherent just long enough to wonder if he had turned off the oven that morning, and then the oblivion of sleep overcame him.

* * *

**R&R if you want. Let me know if you think it's worth me doing the Xmas sequel or accompanying three-shot as mentioned at the bottom of Chapter 1.**


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